


On Holiday

by IndigoNight



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Aging Issues, Bickering, Bottom Harry Fest, Discussion of Scarring, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, So much bickering, body image issues, grumpy old men in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 06:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12858612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoNight/pseuds/IndigoNight
Summary: Things have been... difficult, since Kentucky, since... everything. But Merlin is determined to get things back on track. And Merlin always has a plan.Written for Fluff Week of the Bottom Harry Fest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Almost missed Fluff week, oops. Written for the Bottom Harry Fest.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Darling?”

Merlin doesn’t wince; but if he had, he’d be glad that the computer monitor he’s facing hid it.  _ Darling _ never bodes well for him.

“Yes, dearest?” he answers, keeping his voice decidedly light and meaningless. He can feel Harry leaning in the doorway even without looking and is intimately familiar with the arm-cross-of-suspicion and the squint-of-displeasure that Harry is no doubt displaying.

“Would you care to explain why you have dragged me to this god forsaken barn in the middle of nowhere?” Harry asks, his voice the very picture of mild and polite despite the acidity in his words.

“First of all, I recall absolutely no  _ dragging _ ; you got into the car of your own volition,” Merlin responds. His fingers don’t falter on the keyboard as he speaks, having prepared more or less this exact conversation well in advance. “Secondly, this ‘god forsaken barn’ as you so poetically named it, is a perfectly nice half million pound cottage which is, if I do say so myself, quite cozy and tastefully decorated.” Harry huffs, but no matter how irritated he is he can’t argue with Merlin’s accuracy. “And thirdly,” Merlin adds, “as you already know, because I have, in fact, already explained it to you, I am here because I am reinforcing the security protocols on all of the Kingsman properties.”

Merlin listens to the sound of Harry’s footsteps over the rug as he paces closer. Harry stops just behind Merlin’s shoulder, attempting to loom over him - a method that hasn’t been effective in nearly thirty years, not that it had ever been all that effective to begin with. “Setting aside entirely the fact that you managed to upgrade thirteen other properties without ever leaving the comfort of your office,” Harry says, his voice sharpening to a point, “that still fails to explain why, exactly,  _ I  _ am here.”

“You are here,” Merlin responds, with what he personally feels is an overabundance of patience, “because I  _ asked _ you to be.”

“And why-” Harry starts, but stops and Merlin can practically hear the other shoe metaphorically dropping. When he speaks again, Harry’s voice is low and positively venomous; “this is a  _ holiday _ , isn’t it?” he accuses. 

With Harry this close, there’s no hiding the smirk that spreads across Merlin’s lips, so he doesn’t try. Nevertheless, thanks to long practice, he manages to keep his voice level and unaffected. “It will be,” he responds calmly, “in about twenty minutes when I’ve finished my work.”

“How dare you- the nerve-” Harry blusters, and Merlin can’t resist finally looking over his shoulder to watch the way Harry’s face is flushing red and his nostrils are flaring.

“Longer, if you keep distracting me,” he points out mildly. “I don’t understand what you’re upset about, anyway. Holidays are meant to be enjoyable - or so I’m told.”

“Oh and what would you know about it?” Harry grumbles, deflating back to a huff. “If I recall correctly, the last time we discussed taking a holiday you were  _ strongly _ opposed to the idea yourself.”

“That was 1993,” Merlin protests, “it was a very busy year, we didn’t have time for a holiday.”

“And we do now?” Harry demands.

“Yes, I do believe that the world can spare us for a night or two. Things are well in hand with-”

“Eggsy put you up to this,” Harry accuses, cutting Merlin off. “He did, didn’t he? I should have known. Meddling boy, should mind his own business…” Harry trails off into muttering, apparently giving up on his looming as he turns to stalk off.

“There are plenty of supplies in the kitchen,” Merlin says before Harry can reach the doorway. “You might make yourself useful and fix us a nice dinner,” he suggests.

“Sure, why not?” Harry throws his hands in the air. “After all, you’ve colluded with my protégé, kidnapped me, and carried me off to the middle of nowhere. Of course I’ll hop to the kitchen and start preparing you a nice gourmet dinner for it all, why don’t I?”

“There are also plenty of GP ration packs in the cupboard if you’re not in the mood to cook,” Merlin says, refocusing his attention back on his computer screen.

“Bite your tongue!” Harry snarls, sounding absolutely scandalized as he storms out.

“Well, at least you’re not being dramatic about it,” Merlin murmurs to himself, making no attempt to contain his grin.

*****

Merlin may have slightly underestimated the time it would take him to finish his security upgrades, but sure enough, by the time he shuts down his computer and emerges from the office Harry has finished setting the table and the whole cottage is filled with the rich scent of well cooked food.

Harry eyes him over the dishware, a towel still thrown over his shoulder and an apron tied neatly around his waist. Merlin stops in the doorway, waiting patiently while Harry glowers at him. After several minutes Harry lets out a loud breath through his nose and starts pouring the wine. “No sense in letting it get cold,” he says huffily.

Merlin’s smart enough not to let himself smile as he takes his seat and quietly unfolds his napkin. Dinner passes mostly in silence, which is standard fare for them; neither Harry nor Merlin are particularly prone to chatter, and after nearly thirty years together the silence is comfortable and easy. But Merlin extends his leg under the table until he can bump their ankles together, and the familiar clatter of silverware, the occasional passing of salt or butter, is soothing. 

Merlin watches across the table as Harry’s shoulders loosen and the frown lines around his lips start to relax. Merlin certainly isn’t stupid enough to say  _ I told you so _ , and anyway, there’s still a lot more to be done. But it’s a start, and an almost overwhelming relief to see Harry starting to relax for possibly the first time since his return from Kentucky. Not that Harry hasn’t had reason to be tense; he’s had quite a lot to do deal with, recovery and rebuilding the Kingsman and taking on his new role as Arthur, not to mention the fact that the world - or at least certain influential members of the population - seem more determined than ever to make a mess of things on a regular basis. And it would be hypocritical of Merlin to chastise him for working too much given that Merlin himself has been caught out falling asleep at his desk more often than not.

Not that Merlin’s going to admit it, Eggsy may have been the one to  _ strongly _ recommend the pair take a holiday - Eggsy’s exact words had been  _ if I see either of you around here again before Tuesday I will make sure a recording of you singing is the top feature on every news station in the country _ , which Merlin is fairly certain was an empty threat, but isn’t something he’s willing to risk without being absolutely certain. Nevertheless, Merlin has his own reasons for giving in - reasons which Eggsy has absolutely no reason to ever know about - and it’s nearly time to put the next phase of his plan into motion.

When they’ve finished eating, Merlin carries his dishes into the kitchen but then retreats - by long standing agreement, the kitchen is solely Harry’s domain, except for on very special occasions such as when Harry is laid up in bed with an injury bad enough to force him to temporarily release his stranglehold on all food-related domestic duties. Not that Merlin is much inclined toward arguing the point normally anyway, but on this night in particular he’s more than happy to leave Harry to it. Afterall, Merlin has preparations to make.

Despite Harry’s gripping, it is, in fact, a  _ very _ nice cottage - most Kingsman properties are, as a rule, both as a point of pride and a matter of practicality. The living room is a comfortable jumble of over stuffed antique furniture centered around a massive stone fireplace with a thick bear skin rug laid out in front of it - and precisely why Merlin had chosen this cottage to bring Harry to.

Everything is already laid out, so it’s only the work of a few minutes for Merlin to get a roaring fire going in the fireplace. He wrinkles his nose, but goes about mixing Harry’s favorite martini before pouring himself a glass of decent scotch - he may be going out of his way to flatter Harry, but he draws the line at giving in to Harry’s terrible taste in drinks. He can tell from the tenor of the clattering in the kitchen that Harry’s nearly done, so Merlin takes a deep breath and settles in. He takes off his shoes and socks, tucking them neatly under the nearest couch, and after a moment of consideration he pulls off his sweater too. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and opens the first three buttons before seating himself on the rug with his drink.

“What in God’s name are you doing?”

“Sitting in front of the fireplace.” Merlin doesn’t quite look at Harry, who he knows is standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. He needs a moment to compose himself or the moment he looks at Harry his whole face will turn red and the game will be up.

“Whatever for?” Harry’s voice is distinctly unimpressed, but Merlin knows he’s on the edge of giving in.

“Well, because it’s romantic, or so I’m told. Now, come and have a drink with me.” It’s a struggle to say that one with a straight face, and only decades of experience help him to keep his composure. 

“We’ve already had wine with dinner.” Harry is definitely cracking now. He’s actually entered the room, instead of looming in the doorway.

“Not that that’s ever stopped you before,” Merlin points out wryly, “but seeing as we’re on holiday, I reckon we can indulge just a wee bit.”

“Not that holiday nonsense again,” Harry mutters. But he huffs, removes his shoes and socks to set them next to Merlin’s, and drops down onto the rug with a heavily put upon sigh. “Would you care to explain to me why, precisely, we are sitting on the floor when there’s a perfectly suitable couch not three feet away?”

“We aren’t sitting on the floor. We’re sitting on a very nice, very soft bear skin rug. Now stop your grousing and drink your stupid martini.” Merlin hands him the glass with a glower that just dares Harry to say anything else. Harry, wisely, keeps silent and sips his drink.

“Well, it is a… rather nice fire,” Harry says eventually, staring into the flames. Harry’s always been prone to fidgeting, and tonight is no exception; he sips his drink, adjusts his cufflinks, fusses with the fur of the rug, runs a hand through his hair. “And I suppose the rug is-”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Merlin teases. He reaches out, carefully prying the nearly empty martini glass from Harry’s grasp and setting both glasses aside.

“What are you doing?” Harry protests, but he makes no move to stop Merlin.

“Well,” Merlin says. He shifts up onto his knees and shuffles over until he’s directly in front of Harry - steadfastly ignoring how absolutely ridiculous he feels, “I believe, I am about to kiss my husband.” There are many reasons why Merlin isn’t a field agent, preference being high among them. And it isn’t that he doesn’t have the skills for it, when absolutely necessary, but it’s been a very, very long time since he’s had to use them. Particularly seduction. Not that he’s going to call it that, that would be ridiculous, he and Harry have been together for well on thirty years. There hadn’t been all that much  _ seduction _ involved in the first place anyway - after nearly a year of endless bickering that straddled the line of unprofessional, Harry had kissed him quite out of the blue, as far as Merlin was concerned. He’d rebuffed Harry at first, leading to a very awkward month, and then seemingly overnight he’d somehow ended up all but living with Harry and that had been that.

Merlin leans in, and Harry leans back. He narrows his eye at Merlin, frowning at him. “Why are you acting like this?” he asks.

Merlin sighs and sits back on his heels. “Like what?” He tries very hard to keep his voice level but the embarrassment and awkwardness is twisting in the pit of his stomach.

Harry squints at him. “Weird,” he answers, drawing out the word and clicking his teeth together on the d. “Are you alright?”

Merlin gives up and reaches for his scotch glass. “Harry, I am  _ trying _ ,” he says.

Harry blinks. “... trying what?”

“Evidently I’ve overestimated my abilities,” Merlin mutters into his glass. “Look, I understand things have been… difficult. And busy. We’ve hardly seen each other since-”

Harry blinks, then his shoulders slump. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Oh no, I didn’t mean-” Harry breaks off, biting his lip. He reaches out, resting a warm palm against Merlin’s cheek, then slowly sliding it down the column of Merlin’s neck to the v of his chest exposed by his partially unbuttoned shirt. Harry’s expression started out soft, but his eyes linger on Merlin’s chest, his fingers stroking the hair there, and then his lips start to twitch. Merlin raises an eyebrow at him, and Harry’s lips keep twitching until he bursts out with a snort of laughter. “You were trying to… to seduce me,” Harry giggles. He folds forward, his forehead thumping against Merlin’s shoulder as he laughs helplessly. “Oh thank god we’ve never needed you for a honeypot mission.”

“Well it wasn’t as bad as all that,” Merlin huffs, shoving Harry away, but gently and Harry just tips over to rest his face on the rug instead. “And anyway, I shouldn’t have to work this hard. Not with you.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry shakes his head and picks himself up from the rug, trying valiantly to suppress his giggling. “No, really, I’m sorry, dear. I shouldn’t laugh. You’re right, you’ve done very well. This… all this is lovely. Absolutely lovely, and-”

“You’re babbling,” Merlin points out mildly.

Harry stops laughing. “And I’ve been a fool,” he finishes, his voice going quiet and serious all at once. 

Merlin blinks. “Well, that’s an unusual phrase, coming from your mouth,” he says, unable to resist the jab.

Harry huffs, but the levity is gone. “I… I do know that I’ve been… difficult, lately,” he admits quietly. He can’t quite seem to look Merlin in the eye, but he reaches out to catch Merlin’s hand in both of his.

“You’ve been difficult since the day you were born,” Merlin retorts. But he lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of Harry’s knuckles. He pulls Harry in, using his free hand to cup the back of Harry’s neck and kiss him, slow and deep. Harry gives in to the kiss easily, yielding and familiar as he lets Merlin pull him in. Merlin presses the kiss, scooting closer and urging Harry to lie back on the rug. Harry makes a low, needy sound and his legs spread automatically for Merlin to settle between them. It’s comfortable, natural. The two of them have always fit together perfectly, and nothing in the world feels quite as right as being between Harry’s legs. Merlin balances himself on one hand, the other reaching for Harry’s shirt, fumbling for the buttons. 

Now that they’re here, now that Harry is finally warm and pliant beneath his touch, Merlin feels every minute since Kentucky, since he’d watched Valentine fire that shot. He feels them like a million paper cuts, each one cutting him a little deeper as they’d passed by. Even after he’d gotten Harry back, there’d been so much to do and so little time. And there’d been Harry’s health to consider. Merlin had restrained himself, had never tried to push it when Harry dropped into bed without more than a cursory goodnight kiss, or when Harry had quietly shaken Merlin’s hand off as they sat together for tea between meetings. Merlin had kept his peace, given Harry time, and he’d made his plans. Plans which are finally coming to fruition, plans to touch, and to kiss, and to  _ feel _ every inch of-

“No, wait.” Harry’s voice is cracked and breathless, and his hands shake just slightly when he pushes Merlin back. The gesture isn’t forceful - it doesn’t have to be, Merlin’s already pulling away as soon as his brain processes Harry’s words. 

But Merlin can’t completely contain the groan of frustration and disappointment. He doesn’t stop at pulling back, but rather rolls all the way off of Harry and lets himself flop onto the rug beside him. “Why?” he asks, staring up at the bare timber rafters of the ceiling. 

“I-” Harry starts, but no actual words follow the sound. He sits up, drawing his knees up and resting his elbows on them; Merlin had managed to get a few buttons undone, and his shirt is half untucked, his trousers wrinkled and his hair mussed. But his whole face is heavy with guilt and he bites his lip as he looks away from Merlin.

Except… Merlin frowns, sitting up on his elbows so that he can reach out and force Harry to face him; that isn’t guilt, it’s shame. Harry tries to pull away, but Merlin refuses to relinquish his grip on the other man’s chin as he studies Harry’s face more closely. “It isn’t medical,” Merlin says, talking aloud as he considers.

“You’ve been nosing around in my medical files?” Harry tries to sound indignant, which is difficult both because of the way Merlin is holding his face and because that’s a perfectly obvious fact and not at all a surprising or secret thing.

“It is literally part of my job description to nose around in your medical files,” Merlin points out. He has no time or patience for Harry’s attempts at misdirection right now. And anyway, if he’d had any doubts about Harry’s physical fitness for this sort of situation, the unmistakable bulge in his trousers would have cleared them up. “Is it psychological?” Merlin very much wants to fidget with his glasses, like he normally does when he’s thinking over something sensitive, but he’s loath to stop touching Harry. “Look, we were… apart for quite some time. And, well, with the amnesia, I suppose it wouldn’t be unreasonable- I’m just saying, Harry, that if… if something has… changed, for you… I just want you to tell me.”

Harry looks absolutely stricken for a moment, then mildly offended. “There’s no one else, if that’s what you’re implying,” he says with a sniff. He tugs his head again, and this time Merlin reluctantly lets him go, allowing Harry to avert his gaze; apparently, he currently finds his own toes extremely fascinating. “But things have changed, haven’t they?” he says quietly. “Me. I… I’ve changed.”

“Not all that much,” Merlin says, wry humor an automatic defensive technique, even now.

“But enough.”

Merlin sits up properly, one leg ending up behind Harry’s back, bent so that the knee is just slightly brushing again Harry, the other leg folded so that Merlin can lean in closer to Harry’s side. “Talk to me,” he coaxes quietly. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Harry hesitates, the muscle in his jaw ticcing as he smoothes his hands over the creased fabric of his trousers. “You’ll laugh at me,” he says, not quite mumbling but toeing the edge. It’s a relief, and also a worry, because it can’t actually be that serious if he’ll accuse Merlin of taking it too lightly, but  _ Harry _ obviously isn’t taking it - whatever it is - lightly and he might be a slightly ridiculous man at times but he’s never been one to make mountains out of molehills.

“Well, laughing or not, I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is,” Merlin points out reasonably.

Harry huffs, his fingers still fussing with his trousers, but then he takes a deep breath. “It’s just, well, I’m getting old,” he says, with only slightly less drama than the air of someone confessing to murder. “You know, I couldn’t exactly keep up my usual fitness regimen during my… recovery. I… I’ve gained some weight, as I’m sure you can tell. And I’ve gone a bit… soft, in places, and I… I’m afraid I’m starting to… sag, slightly, in others. And there’s hardly any color at all left in my hair now. And all of that is not even to mention the, well, the  _ scarring _ .”

Merlin does laugh, something which he regrets immediately, but only a little. “Your vanity, of course it’s your vanity,” Merlin chuckles, pressing a hand over his own face in a half hearted effort to smother his laughter. “Harry,” he says reasonably, as soon as he’s got control of himself again, “if I was put off by scars then our relationship wouldn’t have survived that mission in Berlin.”

“Well this is hardly just a small knife wound or… or a regular bullet through and through,” Harry protests huffily, but his lips are twitching just a little bit.

“Berlin was hardly a  _ small knife wound _ ,” Merlin points out. He reaches out to run his fingers through Harry’s fringe and he’s relieved that Harry leans into the touch. “And anyway, it’s not like I’m exactly a spring chicken these days either,” he adds. “You aren’t that much older than me.”

“Yes, but that’s different.” Harry rolls his eyes at Merlin’s raised eyebrow, as though  _ Merlin _ is the one being ridiculous. “Well, it’s just that… it suits you.”

“It… suits me?” Merlin repeats, both eyebrows now raised as high as they can go.

“Sometimes I think you were  _ born _ fifty,” Harry says, his lips quirked upward as he shoots Merlin a sideways glance. “You know, you  _ like _ lumpy sweaters and… and sitting still, and butterscotch candies.”

“I hardly see what my taste in candies has to do with my age,” Merlin grumbles. “Now stop trying to change the subject.”

“I didn’t change anything, you brought it up.” Harry is working himself up to a full on pout, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s drowning shame or self consciousness any more.

Merlin lets his fingers slide through Harry’s hair, cupping the back of his head, seeking out the carefully combed over patch marking the exit wound. Harry twitches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. “Harry,” Merlin says gently. Harry closes his eyes and swallows, but doesn’t respond. Merlin sighs and removes his hand from the back of Harry’s head in favor of gripping his chin again, while the other hand reaches for Harry’s glasses. At that Harry flinches, jerking his head back, but Merlin refuses to let him go. “Harry,” he repeats again, which is stupid, particularly since it’s only the two of them so there’d hardly be any confusion about who he’s talking to, “look at me.” 

Harry grimaces, but he meets Merlin’s gaze and stops resisting. Merlin’s hands are perfectly steady as he removes the glasses from Harry’s face - Harry has worn them nearly all the time since Merlin had given them to him, not even taking them off at night until after the lights have been turned out. Harry flinches slightly and blinks his good eye several times as Merlin sets the glasses aside.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harry Hart,” Merlin says firmly. He makes a point of running the pad of his thumb gently over the scar tissue around Harry’s left eye, cradling Harry’s cheek in the palm of his hand. “I love you. That hasn’t changed, and it isn’t going to. No matter how scarred or… or  _ saggy _ you get. Understood?”

Harry’s expression crumples and he closes his eye as he leans his face into Merlin’s hand. He takes a deep breath that makes his whole body shake slightly, but then he nods. He turns his face to press a soft kiss into the palm of Merlin’s hand before opening his eye again and meeting Merlin’s gaze steadily. “It is the same for me, you know,” he says, his voice gone low and scratchy. “I never want you to doubt that.”

“I’ll take care not to make that mistake again then,” Merlin says. “Now, are you going to take your clothes off, or shall I do it for you?” Merlin loves the feeling of Harry’s cheek flushing hot under the palm of his hand.

 


	2. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bit of background Eggsy/Tilde. Mostly just adding this bit because it made me giggle a little.

Merlin wakes, groggily, to the shrill sound of his phone ringing. Judging by the light filtering in through the edges of the heavy blackout curtains it is, in fact, morning, but given that the sun had nearly been on its way up when he and Harry had finally fallen asleep he still feels justified in having a thoroughly grumpy demeanor about it. 

Under different circumstances, Merlin might have felt slightly embarrassed by how thoroughly debauched the entire room looks, but just now he feels far too satisfied to bother. The fire has died down to mere embers, meaning the room is chilly outside of the cozy nest he and Harry have ended up in. Merlin is loath to stick any part of his body out from under the fleecy blanket they’re tucked under, but the phone is still ringing shrilly. So with great reluctance, Merlin leans up on his elbow, reaching out to fumble around in the heaps of their discarded clothing.

Harry makes a soft sound of protest beside him, trying to squirm deeper under the blanket and Merlin relishes him like this, soft and sleepy and pliant. His hair is a mess, splayed all over the soft bear fur and there’s a thin beam of sunlight falling across his face. He’s beautiful, absolutely perfect and Merlin wants nothing more than to snuggle back up with him and forget the rest of the world for… well, possibly for at least a week, if they can spare it.

“Yes, what?” Merlin says, finally finding the phone and lifting it to his ear; it’s Harry’s phone, but the all too familiar number makes Merlin roll his eyes and answer it anyway.

“Good morning.”

Merlin scowls at the entirely too chipper tone of voice, and Harry raises a bleary eyebrow at him. But Merlin sighs and does his best to inject patience into his voice as he answers, “good morning, Eggsy.”

Harry grunts, his surprise gone, and curls back up against Merlin’s side, half pulling the blanket up over his face. 

“Sorry to bother you,” Eggsy says. “I just wanted to check in, make sure-”

Merlin stops listening in favor of poking Harry; he figures that if he has to deal with Harry’s overly enthusiastic puppy, Harry doesn’t get to sleep through it. Harry pokes his head out enough to scowl at Merlin and Merlin can’t resist running his fingers through Harry’s mussed hair fondly.  _ Abandonment issues _ , he mouths at Harry, gesturing toward the phone.

Harry scowls harder and swats at Merlin in reproval, but there’s no real heat to it - and it doesn’t escape Merlin’s attention that Harry doesn’t try to argue with his assessment. Instead, Harry’s eye has crinkled up at the corner with a poorly concealed grin as he reaches for the phone, plucking it from Merlin’s hand without so much as a  _ if you please _ . “Eggsy,” Harry greets around a yawn. “Is something wrong?”

Merlin huffs and drops back down onto Harry’s shoulder, shifting close enough to hear both sides of the conversation; he also makes a point of amusing himself by running a hand down the length of Harry’s chest. 

“No, nothing,” Eggsy says, a little too quickly. “I just wanted to check and see-”

“Eggsy, is there some sort of potentially world ending crisis on hand?” Harry’s voice straddles a thin line between calm and just a little sharp around the edges, but Merlin can see the undeniable amusement making itself known on Harry’s face.

“Uh, no,” Eggsy answers, and Harry continues before he gets the chance to say anything else.

“Are you in any eminent danger?” Harry asks.

“I’m fine,” Eggsy insists, “but-”

“Is Tilde in any eminent danger?” Harry persists. “Your mother? Your sister? Any members of the Kingsman, or the Statesman organizations? Any threats at all that might require the immediate intervention of Merlin or myself?”

Merlin can hear Eggsy swallow over the line; he could also swear that he can hear Tilde laughing in the background. “Erm… no,” he admits.

“Excellent, I’m glad to hear it.” Harry’s given in to a broad grin, and he retaliates Merlin’s earlier poke with a nudge to a distinctly lower part of Merlin’s body. “As long as that remains the case, we’ll thank you not to call again. Merlin and I… are on holiday.” Harry hangs up the phone with an air of finality - cutting off Eggsy’s indignant squawk and Tilde’s giggling - and tosses it back into the heap of discarded clothes.

Merlin raises both eyebrows at Harry, his lips twitching.

“Oh shut up you,” Harry grumbles. He pulls at Merlin until Merlin obliges and rolls on top of him, giving in to Harry’s kiss with a laugh.


End file.
